


A Momentary Itch

by meiface



Category: Free!
Genre: Childhood Friends, First Time, M/M, Sexual Frustration, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meiface/pseuds/meiface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haru keeps borrowing Makoto's clothes. It’s not a big deal except for how Makoto is losing his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Momentary Itch

"Haru-chan, no--" Makoto cringed as a telltale flash of green flew into the air in front of him. That would be Haruka's tie making a break for freedom as its owner made a beeline for the fountain in the middle of the shopping center square. Makoto could see Haru's fingers busy on the thin white cotton of his summer uniform shirt.

This could not end well.

“Haru!” Makoto’s bag thumped along his hip as he ran, praying he'd make it in time. This was what he got for looking away for all of two seconds, distracted by the cat curled up in a passing shop window. He’d looked up and suddenly Haruka had been gone from his side, leaving Makoto to stare at a fast-disappearing figure in the distance, his heart sinking. The telltale patter of water from the fountain splashing into the pool at its base was ominous.

Ahead of him, there was a glimpse of a bare shoulder as Haru's shirt flapped open. Some children were possibly going to be traumatized today. Makoto put on an extra burst of speed as Haru stripped out of the shirt, flinging it away. It fluttered as it fell, suspended midair in the light for a moment before nosediving -- straight into the fountain.

No, this was definitely not going to end well.

Makoto reached Haru just as his hands landed on his belt. He flung his arms around Haru and squeezed, trapping him in place. “No, Haru, stop!” he cried. “You’re going to get arrested for public indecency.” 

Haru looked mildly annoyed, as he always did when Makoto prevented him from stripping inappropriately in public and bonding with the nearest body of water. 

“I wanted to swim.”

“Oh, Haru,” Makoto said, shaking his head. Haru was always so _Haru._ He’d never change.

“You should have let me swim,” Haru said.

Sometimes it was exhausting, chasing after Haru. Makoto slumped over Haru’s shoulder, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see the baffled and frightened gazes of nearby young mothers, probably scandalized and dragging their children away muttering about the depravities of youth today. For a moment, he let himself indulge in the warmth of Haru’s neck, where it smelled faintly of clean sweat, and a faint trace of chlorine from childhood. The skin was soft against his lips, dampening with his breath.

Makoto pulled back a little too quickly. Haru raised an eyebrow at him, but at least he didn’t look like he was about to clamber into the fountain if Makoto stepped back.

He cleared his throat and looked away, embarrassed, casting around to find Haru’s shirt in the fountain, soaked. “Oh,” he said as he fished it out, dripping. “Well, you can’t wear that.”

Haru crossed his arms. “You should let me take off my pants.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I’m in my suit. That’s less strange than walking around shirtless in my uniform pants.”

“How is that _less strange_ \-- No, Haru, just -- you know what,“ Makoto shook his head and shoved the sopping wet shirt at Haru. “Here, hold this.” He loosened his own tie and worked at the buttons on his shirt. 

Haruka eyed him. “Do you think it’s less strange if we both walk around shirtless?”

“Oh, Haru,” he laughed. “Shut up.” He shrugged out of his shirt and draped it over Haru’s shoulders, cheeks pink. “Here, I have a t-shirt on so I’ll be fine, and this way you’re at least decent. Put it on,” he insisted. 

Grumbling, Haru did as instructed. Makoto sighed, relieved, as he wrung out Haru’s shirt and then steered them away from the fountain. He wanted to say something like, _See? This is why you should wear the standard tee under the uniform shirt_ , but the words would be wasted on Haru, who would only ever see them as another obstacle between him and water. Besides, Makoto didn’t actually want to be Haru’s mother, as often as he found himself shoved into the role, particularly with all the first years in their swimming club. He much preferred being Haru’s best friend, albeit a hovering one, but that was unavoidable when it came to Haru. Who knew where he would end up without someone looking out for him beyond his excruciatingly narrow field of vision.

Haru glanced longingly back at the fountain as he buttoned up Makoto's shirt. As always, the shirt hung too big on him, making him look smaller than he actually was, almost frail beneath the extra swath of material. 

Makoto went warm and felt ridiculous, stammering about going to retrieve Haru's tie. He stepped back as Haru turned towards him, expression curious.

As always? It wasn't as if Haru wore Makoto's clothes that often. It wasn't as if it never happened either, though, having grown up together. So perhaps it was _as always_ that Haru borrowed Makoto's clothing whenever it was convenient. That wasn't different.

If anything was different these days, it was how it made Makoto feel. He avoided Haru's eyes as they walked back home together side by side companionably, Makoto filling in the space between them with words so he wouldn't be distracted by thoughts of how things had changed.

*

The first time they shared clothes, they were maybe four or five. Makoto didn't remember but there were pictures; there were always pictures. His parents enjoyed snapping photos. Their house was liberally strewn with framed photographs of Makoto growing up, of the twins, and of Haruka. Makoto was smiling in pretty much all of them; Haru, not so much. It was pretty representative of their relationship, Makoto's mom liked saying fondly, adjusting the frame on Makoto's dresser.

"Haru-chan smiles!" Makoto had protested at various points throughout his childhood. He knew. He'd seen!

"Of course he does, honey. I'm not saying he doesn't." But she had always thought they were perfect pair, balancing each other out, “like a matching set of salt and pepper shakers!” she’d exclaimed once.

As they’d grown, Makoto had come to agree. He and Haru were different in a lot of ways, but their friendship had always been as natural as breathing. 

It was a constant, over the years: Makoto's cheerfulness and Haru's reticence. Anything else life threw at them, they were still Makoto and Haru -- Haru, who loved the water, and Makoto, who loved Haru. It wasn't as though Haru didn't love Makoto back -- they were best, friends, after all -- only that he loved the water more. Makoto didn't begrudge him that. No one who really knew Haru could begrudge him that.

But Haru was his friend, his best friend, a childhood friend. He was over at the Tachibana house all the time, years before Ren and Ran had been born. There were pictures of them splashing in tubs together, in the ocean, in pools. There were pictures of Haru in Makoto's shirts and Makoto in Haru's shirts. Their size difference hadn't been quite so significant at that age. 

Makoto hadn't thought twice of borrowing and lending clothes then, more impatient to get Haru out of his wet or dirty clothes and back to playing. Once, Haru had grown really attached to one of Makoto's shirts, a bright green one with a smiley-eyed cartoon frog on it. His parents put him in stripes and solids, basics, but Haru liked the weird little cartoon animals. He always avidly watched anime on TV whenever he stayed over with Makoto.

"You like cute things," Makoto had exclaimed in delight when they were about seven or eight. Haru had blushed but Makoto hadn't been laughing at him. He'd just thought it was great, because Haru was cute too.

He let Haru keep that shirt after borrowing it the third time.

The point was, it had never been something Makoto had noticed or cared about before, even going through middle school. He didn't even blink twice at seeing Haruka naked or half-naked, for crying out loud. Years of growing up together and then swimming together had cured him of any body shyness. 

If anything, the way Haru's body looked, moved, in the water was beautiful. 

Makoto loved swimming and he was good at it, but he was nothing like Haru. He didn’t crave water the way Haru did, that sensation of being free. Watching Haru's form in the water always made Makoto’s breath catch in the back of his throat. It was nothing new to let his eyes linger that way, on the flex of muscle, the lithe lines of Haru streaming through the rippling pool. 

This was new though, the way his gaze snagged on the neckline of his too-large shirt slipping over Haru's neck, exposing his collarbone. The curl of heat low in his belly as Haru shook out his wet hair, droplets sliding down his neck, dipping into the hollow of his throat. The errant thought that he could chase that drop with his tongue, and trail lower.

Makoto flushed and tore his eyes away, uneasy.

This was new, and it wasn't entirely welcome.

He pushed his glasses up his nose, shifting Ran in his lap, and focused on the racing game he was in danger of losing badly. Haru was trouncing him even with Ren draped over his back, shouting encouragement into his ear. Haru's eyes glinted, a betrayal, while his expression remained otherwise impassive.

"You're going to lose, Nii-chan!" Ren shouted happily.

"Why aren't you on my side," Makoto said, adopting a mournful tone. "You guys are always like this when Haru comes over."

"Haru-nii is better than you!"

"So fickle," Makoto sighed.

"I still love you, Nii-chan," Ran said sleepily.

Haruka glanced over at them, the corners of his lips curving up as Makoto took a hand off the controller to ruffle Ran's hair in helpless affection. "You've lost," he said flatly as Makoto's car careened off the road yet again just as Haru pulled past the finish line.

Ren cheered, falling off Haru's back.

"You're terrible," Mako said.

"No, _you're_ terrible."

"Nii-chan _is_ terrible! I bet I could beat Haru-nii!"

Makoto chuckled at him. "Actually, _you_ need to go to sleep." Getting to his feet, he set about shepherding the twins to their room, Ran half asleep on her feet and Ren protesting the entire way he wasn't tired. "You know the rules," Mako told him and caught another smile from Haru in the corner of his eye. He turned slightly, just enough to wink, and that earned him a laugh as he left the room, feeling warm and happy. He tucked Ren into bed, pressed a kiss into his hair, and repeated the process with Ran.

Ten minutes later, he returned to his own room to find Haruka already in bed, curled towards the wall with his back to the door. The video game console and controllers were still spread out across the floor, cords snaking across each other. Makoto shook his head. Haru could be meticulous about certain things, but he never did like picking up after himself.

He nudged the controllers and console back towards the TV, so they were at least no longer a tripping hazard in the middle of the room, and then pulled off his glasses, setting them on his desk before climbing into bed.

Haru was warm beside him, as he always was. His hair was still damp, curling at his nape and slightly blurry to Makoto.

His skin looked soft. If Makoto put his lips there, what would he taste like?

The arousal that spiked up his spine stole his breath momentarily. He squeezed his eyes closed, torn between feeling guilty and turned on. Stomach clenching, he turned away from Haru, vainly trying to ignore the heat flooding his groin.

"Good night, Haru-chan," he murmured.

There was a small hum of acknowledgment behind him, and then the gentle pressure of Haru's back resting ever so slightly against his. Through Makoto's borrowed shirt. Makoto inhaled silently, dick stirring, and held himself perfectly still.

It was a long time before he fell asleep.

*

Two weeks later, Makoto thought he was going to lose his mind. It was getting -- no, it had gotten beyond ridiculous now.

Now that it had woken up, his traitorous body had apparently decided that it found Haruka attractive at all times, and not just while wearing Makoto's clothing. Every little thing caught Makoto's eye, from the sunlight in his hair as they sat on the rooftop, eating lunch, the fleeting little smirk while he teased Nagisa, to the slump of his back as he sat in class, head propped up with one arm, twirling his pencil as their teacher drew diagrams on the board. Makoto kept picturing that hair sweaty and in disarray, that wicked smile turned up at him from between his thighs, the line of Haru's back arching underneath Mako's hands instead.

It was driving him crazy, and suffusing him with guilt as he jerked off furtively at night, and on top of it all, it seemed as if Haru was borrowing Makoto's clothes even more than ever.

He didn't know if it was his imagination or not -- maybe it was that phenomenon where, now that he'd started noticing, it seemed to happen _all the time_ , even if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. But surely the last two weeks weren't ordinary; Makoto suspected he'd have lost his mind a lot sooner if it had been. 

First, Ren had spilled apple juice on Haru's during dinner, resulting in Haru borrowing another of Mako's shirts. He hadn't stayed over that night, had only murmured a vague, "I'll return this later," as he headed back home.

Then, Haru had dripped a bright red cherry popsicle all over his shirt while the team was on a group trip to the aquarium and had found himself in Makoto's hoodie to cover up the stain. "It's fine, really," he'd said, but Makoto had insisted, cheeks pink and desperately trying not to look at Haru's red, red mouth, after Nagisa had laughed, "You look like you've sucked someone's blood and it dripped all over your shirt, Haru-chan!" Fortunately, he'd been sufficiently distracted a few minutes later by roping Haru back from the dolphin tank. Unfortunately, his heart had nearly lurched out of his chest a few hours later when Haru returned the hoodie and Makoto realized it smelled like Haru.

His face burned to think about that night, the things he'd pictured and dreamt until he'd shuddered into his fist, shameful but so good.

After that, they had been at karaoke when Haru had ended up spilling a glass of tea in his lap. Makoto had no idea how it had happened, having been focused on the TV, belting out the lyrics to "Rage On". No one had had pants for Haru to change into, understandably, though Gou had offered up a fashionable scarf out of her bag to spread over his lap like a makeshift blanket. 

The flash of hot, sharp jealousy at that had been -- well, not entirely unexpected, but it hadn't made Makoto feel any better about himself. It had been to his relief that Haru turned down the sheer scrap of purple fabric shot through with sparkly silver threads, eyeing it askance. 

And that would have been the end of it, except halfway through Nagisa and Rei, of all people, bouncing along to "Heavy Rotation," Haru had sneezed and Makoto's concern for Haru's well-being had flared up. Haru had ended the night with Makoto's Iwatobi Swim Club jacket draped over his shoulders and he'd leaned back into it without protest, thigh pressed warm against Mako and face limned in the glow from the screen.

Mako hadn't remembered any of the other songs that night.

Surely, he thought now to himself, wide-eyed as Haru stood at the stove, grilling mackerel yet again, the past two weeks hadn't been normal. Haru had never before borrowed so many of Makoto's clothes quite so frequently. And never, in Mako's memory, had he been pulled out of the tub in the morning only to come to the kitchen wearing Makoto's shirt over his jammers, apron tied neatly in the small of his back.

It was the one he'd walked home in ten days ago after Ren's apple juice accident, and now he was wearing it without second thought as he made breakfast.

"Shouldn't you put your uniform on, Haru-chan?" Makoto asked, trying for admonishing. 

Haru only said, "Later.”

He fell silent, unsure how to bring up the fact that Haru was wearing his shirt. It wasn't a big deal, he rationalized to himself. Haru had probably grabbed the first shirt at hand before coming into the kitchen. It was good that he was finally listening to Mako about not cooking shirtless -- oil splatters were a serious concern! Never mind that he had never heeded Mako's well-meaning nagging in the past. 

It wasn't a big deal and it didn't mean anything. Just because Haru in Makoto's clothing was driving Makoto insane didn't mean Haru knew what he was doing, and it certainly didn't mean he _meant_ anything by it.

Yet all Mako could think about was moving to stand behind Haruka, breathing in his scent and how it had surely sunk into the borrowed shirt. He would slip his hands up under the gaping hem of the shirt, put them on Haru's hips, his stomach, his chest. Haru would be warm from the heat of the grill and maybe still a little damp from the bath. And he’d want this; he would lean back into Makoto, tip his head to the side so Mako could close his teeth over the side of Haru's neck right where it curved into shoulder. He'd suck a bruise there, vibrant and undeniable, right where Haru's shirts would hide it, but where it’d be exposed when Haru wore Makoto's clothes, Makoto's shirts, wide necklines sliding low on his skin.

Makoto was hard under the table, hot and miserable and so, so turned on. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and buried his face in his hands.

"Mako?" 

He could feel the weight of Haru's eyes on him as he turned.

All he could manage was a low, miserable groan.

After another minute or so, Haru snapped off the grill and padded over to the table. He set the plate of fish down and touched Mako's arm.

Mako's head jerked up and he knew his eyes were too bright, his face too red. 

Haru's eyes held his. His expression was solemn and unreadable. "I'm going to change now," he said. "You can start eating." His fingers pressed momentarily into the skin of Makoto's arm and Makoto's dick pulsed hard in response. 

And then Haru was gone and Makoto was left staring at the plate of mackerel in shame and humiliation.

He was _the worst friend in the world_.

At least the abject agony of feelings killed off his erection in short order. He mustered up a smile for Haru when he returned and they ate the mackerel in silence before heading off to school.

*

"Haru-chan seems to be clumsier than usual," Nagisa said thoughtfully.

Makoto blinked. "What do you mean?"

"He got soy sauce all over his tie today! That's unlike him."

"Accidents happen."

Nagisa pursed his lips. "Not to Haru-chan! Not so frequently. It's lucky you keep a spare at school." He kicked his feet in the pool and Mako laughed, shielding his face from stray drops.

"Maybe he's got something on his mind," he said. 

"Maybe he does. Maybe he's nervous!"

Makoto bit his lip. So he hadn't been the only one to notice the uptick in frequency of -- whatever this was, that resulted in Haru wearing Mako's clothes more often than not. He still wasn't a hundred percent positive that it was purposeful, but his stomach swooped at the thought that it was. But what would it mean?

Nagisa might have been younger and typically an exuberant bundle of cheer, but he had always been sharper than people gave him credit for. Makoto knew better than to underestimate him. If Nagisa had noticed Haru's so-called klutziness, it was unlikely he had missed Makoto's reactions in turn to these recent events. Makoto glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, anxiety jangling his own nerves.

Late afternoon sunlight glinted off Nagisa's gold hair as they sat at the edge of the pool, watching Rei run through extra laps in a neighboring lane. Gou stood at the other end of the pool with a stopwatch and a clipboard. Practice was officially over but Rei wanted to put in extra work. Makoto and Nagisa were happy to stay longer to keep him company. Ama-chan sensei was parked in her usual chair in the shade, a giant pair of sunglasses covering most of her face. And Haru was -- well, Haru being Haru was lingering in the water, swimming freeform, safely out of Rei's way. 

There was always something soothing about watching Haru swim that could calm Mako, anchor him even when his blood wanted to rush like a heaving ocean. Makoto could feel his uneasiness melt away the longer he watched Haru. His smiled helplessly.

"Mako-chan, don't worry so much." Nagisa bumped their shoulders together, startling Mako into looking his way. His grin was wide and happy. "If Haru-chan is nervous about something, he'll tell you eventually! He always does."

*

Nagisa wasn't wrong. Haru made it very clear to Makoto a few days later just what had been on his mind.

He wasn't nervous though. He was sure of himself, remarkably self-possessed, as was typical of Haruka. 

It was Makoto, as always, caught out, feeling flustered, like he was one step out of sync and needing to catch up.

All it took was a steady look from Haru to change that, though, one of unfaltering belief and a hand, once again, on Makoto's arm, to pull him back on rhythm. Blood rushing in his ears, Makoto exhaled and the world clicked into place, fears falling away like the rush of water sliding off his skin as he emerged from a pool.

It could only be this easy with Haruka.

*

"It's not that I don't trust you," Makoto's mother said cheerfully, as though anyone could doubt how much she trusted her eldest child, "but I don't want you to be lonely. Have Haru spend the night as company. We'll be back tomorrow!"

"I'll invite him. Don't worry. Have fun!" Makoto waved off his parents and the twins on an overnight trip to Tokyo Disneyland that Ran was convinced he was stupid and boring for missing. 

"Don't say stupid," their mother had said, "and Mako-chan has a race to prepare for. It's good that he's so dedicated to preparing for it."

" _Boring_ ," Ran had insisted, undeterred, while Ren had sulked. 

But Mako had finally convinced them to go off and have fun without him, securing promises of lots of photos to show him when they returned from their birthday trip. _Maybe even cake_ , Ran had said, face brightening. She was in love with bakery cakes these days and was determined to wrangle as many out of their parents that she could with her birthday as excuse. Makoto fully expected them to return from Tokyo the next day laden down with bakery boxes.

"I'm sure she'll get more than enough for everyone," he told Haru that night over ramen. "You'll have to come over and help eat some. They'll never forgive you if you don't come celebrate their birthdays."

"I'll be there."

Haru said it so seriously Mako couldn't help but smile. Under the bar, he nudged his knee against Haru's in silent thanks. Haru only looked at him as if he should know better, and Mako did; really, he did. Haru loved Ren and Ran as if they were his own siblings, and they idolized him probably far more than they did Makoto, since Haru never had to break up fights or chide them to do their homework.

Walking home from the ramen shop afterwards, it was still light out but the air a little chillier with the wind blowing off the ocean. Beside Haru, Makoto thought about Haru's eyes, about the slope of his neck, about him in Makoto's clothes. But he thought, too, about Haru's hands and how his fingers swung just inches from his own. He thought about Haru's chest, the heartbeat Mako would hear if he lay his head down. He thought about how Haru would look at him these days, even more inscrutable than usual, intent, and how Makoto's breath would catch in his throat and maybe something like hope high behind his ribcage.

It felt as though gears were in motion and they were heading toward something inevitable. It was only a matter of time, and the air was heavy with anticipation in Makoto's lungs.

They took off their shoes just inside the entrance. 

"Let's watch a movie," Makoto suggested. "Or do you want to play games?"

"A movie."

"Do you have any in mind?"

Haru smirked. "What if I said a horror movie?"

Makoto gulped. "Well, if you really wanted to." Even the idea of it made him shiver a little.

"Let's watch something else."

Relieved, Makoto followed Haru into Makoto's room where he could pull something up on his computer. With his family out of the house, they could probably use the DVD player in the living room, but curling up in Makoto's room was their custom. 

They changed into sleeping clothes first, t-shirts and boxers, and sat crosslegged on the floor in front of the bed. Makoto worried about keeping the lights off the way they usually did, but it'd be weirder if he changed traditions for no reason. 

Haru had agreed to a historical drama, one with war and epic battles, political intrigue and romance, and which had evidently won a number of awards. But as he hit play and the music started up, Makoto silently made a wager with himself when Haru would drift off. Movies never managed to hold Haru's attention unless they were animated, particularly if they had strange little fantastical creatures in them. He always got peculiarly intent about them, charmed in his own way. He had used the soot sprite cell phone charm Makoto had given him for years before it'd fallen off. Makoto had delighted in it for just as long. 

Makoto had had the forethought to grab drinks and snacks. Haru went immediately for the strawberry pocky, popping one in his mouth as he offered Makoto the box.

Determinedly keeping his mind off Haru's mouth -- or at least his eyes -- Makoto helped himself and turned his attention to the movie. 

It was more difficult than planned. Haru was sitting close, knees brushing, body heat palpable. If Makoto concentrated, he could smell skin and salt and chlorine. If he shut out the noise and color on the screen, he could detect the scent of artificial strawberry flavor, candy sweet. _He'd taste like strawberry._

The world seemed to fade for a moment as Makoto sat next to Haru and just breathed him in.

A pop and hiss jostled him back to reality. "Shit," Haru said, jumping.

His soda had sprayed him upon opening and was now fizzing over the top of the can, dripping down over his fingers. 

"Oh no," Makoto cried. He leapt to his feet and grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom, rushing back to nearly collide with Haru, who had followed him. 

"Better for it to drip here than on your carpet," he said.

"Good thinking!" Makoto took the can and thrust the washcloth at him. "Are you okay?"

Haru grimaced, wiping himself off. "It got all over me." 

A quick onceover confirmed this. His shirt was damp, and so were his boxers, clinging to his thigh in patches. Makoto frowned.

"You can't stay in that. I guess you'll just have to borrow my clothes." He paused, then added lightly, with a teasing smile, "Again." _It’s not a big deal. Don’t make it a big deal_ , he reminded himself.

Haru looked at him. Nodded.

And Makoto’s stomach tightened. They were inching, hurtling, closer. He ducked out of the bathroom to get fresh clothes for Haru.

*

He hadn't been ready for the sight of Haruka in his boxers.

The shirts he had gotten accustomed to, even if they still made him squirm. 

The boxers were too big. Makoto was taller than Haru, bigger, and wider. The waistband slipped low on Haru's hips, and when he bent to unpause the movie on Makoto's computer, he had to make a grab at the material to hitch them back up.

Makoto was going to die. He moved a pillow into his lap, face burning.

He could see the backs of Haru's _thighs_ , shadowed in the dim room but visible. 

Haru glanced at him when he returned to his seat, but said nothing. 

Makoto tried to breathe through his nose for a while, trying to calm his pounding heart. He felt a little dizzy. Maybe his glasses were pinching too tight.

He wasn’t that delusional.

Maybe five minutes passed in the movie, maybe ten. Makoto couldn't tell you to save his life what was happening onscreen. 

But then Haru put a hand on his forearm, a firm grip, waiting as Makoto's eyes swung to meet his. His face was lit from the side by the screen, and Makoto wanted to smooth his thumb over the curve of his cheek.

"Haru," he whispered.

Haru leaned forward and kissed him.

Makoto froze. Haru pressed closer, lips parting, and Makoto inhaled so quickly it made him even dizzier. He kissed back instinctively, because Haru had looked so sure. And -- and Makoto was so in love with him. Had always been, really.

Maybe this was what they had been winding their way towards, what everything had been leading to.

Haru rose up on his knees and leaned in, licking into Makoto's mouth, hungry and wet. Makoto went hot. He put his hands on Haru's hips, slipping underneath the oversized shirt and gripping right above the waistband of his own boxers. He groaned. " _Haru_."

Impatient, Haru knocked away the pillow Makoto had stuffed in his lap, shifting so he straddled his thighs. His fingers clutched at Mako's arms, sliding up to his shoulders, curling into his hair and clenching. His eyes were so, so dark when Makoto looked at him, his mouth wet and red.

Arousal shivered through him. "Haru, god," he said and Haru surged forward again, capturing his mouth and knocking his glasses askew. He tugged at Mako's hair a little frantically, and when he rolled his hips forward and into Makoto's, a tiny sound escaped the back of his throat.

Makoto's hands slid down to cup his ass, too desperate to be embarrassed by how boldly he spread his fingers, feeling the heat of Haru's skin through a thin, thin layer of cotton. Haru kept rocking against him, biting at his lips, and Mako was definitely losing his mind. Behind Haru, the movie was still playing and it seemed to have hit one of the epic battle scenes, clanging weapons and shouts making a clamor in the background. All Makoto could focus on was the thrust of Haru's hips against his -- oh god, that was Haru's _dick_ , a hard line pushing up against his. And that was Haru's tongue sliding roughly against his jaw, down the column of his throat.

Makoto tilted his head to the side, accommodating, and moaned when Haru nipped at his skin and then settled in to suck a hard bruise. 

In one fluid movement, Mako pushed forward, wrapping his arms around Haru's back as he lowered him to the ground. Panting, he hovered over him. Haru was flushed and his eyes were so dark, hair a wild tangle. 

"Don't just stare," Haru said, a grumble, but it came out breathless.

"Are you -- are you sure?" Because he still could hardly believe that Haru wanted this, not after feeling so guilty for his desires for so long. He could hardly believe his fantasies could be more than just dirty jerk off material, that he could touch, and Haru would not only allow it but welcome it.

Haru kicked lightly at his shin. "I'm sure. _Makoto._ "

Makoto's heart thumped painfully in his chest.

" _Do something._ "

Makoto kissed him and stroked one hand underneath the shirt along Haru's side. The other hand slid between their bodies and over Haru's straining erection.

He swallowed the strangled moan from Haru's mouth and pressed down as Haru arched into his hand. Against his palm he could feel a damp spot where Haru was leaking, staining his borrowed boxers. _Oh god._

It was a matter of seconds to tug down the loose boxers and wrap his hand around Haru's cock. Makoto bit his lip hard as Haru's thighs fell open, shaking. He rubbed his thumb over the head of Haru's dick, smearing precome, and concentrated on jacking Haru tight and fast. He paused once to lick his palm, head lowering, watching Haru's eyes grow even darker with Mako only breaths away from where he was throbbing for attention.

He was nervous, scared. He'd dreamed of this for what seemed like forever but hadn't been very long at all. Makoto wanted to -- try. He licked his lips and Haru groaned, thrusting up into Mako's fist. He wanted to try but he'd never done this before and he wanted to make it good for Haru.

"It's okay," Haru gritted out, voice tight. "Mako, just. Your hand."

And Mako looked up at him, and he was so sure, so steady, that Mako could only follow his lead, comforted by the familiarity of a Haru who knew exactly what he wanted.

He dipped his head and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to the tip of Haru's cock, and licked the fleetingly bitter-salt taste from his lips. Then he resumed jacking Haru with intent, determined to turn him into him a shaking, boneless mess. Haru threw his head back, baring his throat, and Mako leaned down to mouth at it as he twisted his wrist, tightening his grasp as he rubbed over Haru's nipples with his free hand. He could feel Haru's stomach trembling against the backs of his knuckles as Haru panted and bit back small helpless noises. 

Haru wasn’t loud, which was probably to be expected. But when he tensed, suddenly, fingernails digging sharp into Mako's back, the breathy sigh he let out as he came all over Makoto's hand was the hottest sound he'd ever heard.

Oh god, he was so hard.

Dazed, he looked on as Haru pulled himself upright enough to slick his hand through the come on his stomach, from Makoto's hand, and reach for Mako through the slit in his boxers. He might have whimpered when Haru's wet hand closed around him, slippery with, _shit_ his own come. 

Makoto came embarrassingly quickly after that, and slumped onto the floor on his side afterwards, trying to catch his breath.

Haru lay down beside him, tangling their feet.

Slowly, their breathing evened. "You okay?" he asked, fingers resting lightly on Makoto's elbow.

Warmth suffused Mako again, but a different kind. "I'm good, Haru-chan," he breathed, smiling.

Haru didn't say anything more, even to protest the name, but his eyes were gentle. His thumb traced a slow arc along Mako's elbow as he leaned in and kissed him again, soft. When he pulled back, he adjusted Mako’s glasses so they sat properly. Makoto huffed a laugh, then closed the distance and kissed him again, losing himself in the taste of Haru’s mouth.

"We should clean up," he said reluctantly after a few minutes. His lips felt tender.

"I'll have to change." Haru met Makoto's eyes and suddenly there was a smirk flirting on his lips. "Again."

Makoto’s mouth fell open. "You -- you did it on purpose!"

"Hmm." Haru didn't admit anything but Makoto knew that look on his face, the spark in his eyes. He had known it in childhood when Haru had found a way to go swimming even after their parents had banned it for the day; knew it from the days they'd pull pranks on Rin and Nagisa; knew it these days from the way he teased Gou and Rei, deadpan, before they caught on. Makoto was well-versed with all forms of that face: Haru wore it whenever he was privately amused, pleased with himself for being clever, particularly at someone else's expense.

"Haru! You did it on purpose?"

Haruka smiled at him, a full, proper smile. "I wanted to make sure," he said. "Then I just wanted to see you squirm."

Makoto's face went red. "That's not very nice at all. I was in agony!" 

"I know." But his next kiss was an apology, and Makoto couldn't help but melt into it. He lifted a hand to stroke Haru's hair but pulled back and made a face when he remembered it was filthy, tacky with drying come.

They returned to the bathroom to clean up and Haru did end up changing again, into another pair of Makoto's clean boxers. He eyed Makoto knowingly as he pulled them on, and Makoto blushed, obligingly, but also ran his fingers right along the sagging waistband over Haru's abdomen. He pressed his smile into the side of Haru's head when Haru shivered under his touch.

*

They gave up on finishing the movie, since they'd missed most of it already, and Makoto put in a video game instead.

The twins weren't around to distract this time, but Makoto got flustered all on his own when he'd look at Haru in his clothes and remember that he'd had his mouth there, in the shadowed dip of his throat, that his fingers had mapped the skin underneath that shirt. 

Haru took no mercy on him, thrashing him in three straight games before Makoto laughed and gave up.

"I can't concentrate," he admitted. Haru in Makoto's clothes had grown distracting of late, but knowing Haru's body beneath those clothes was even worse. Knowing that Haru wanted Mako's hands on him, even wanted more, gave Makoto a rushing sense of happiness so strong it felt like vertigo and made him want to keep his hands on Haru _all the time_.

Haru put his controller down and scooted across the floor to lean against Makoto’s side.

"Come swimming with me tomorrow," he said.

"Of course." Makoto twined their fingers together and beamed.

Haru lifted his chin and Makoto met him halfway, and they kissed until they were breathless and laughing with it. Well, Makoto was laughing, giddy, and Haru was smiling at him, a little pink but nonetheless happy. He was so cute.

"Let's go to bed, Haru-chan," he said.

Haru pinched his side, grumpy. "Don't call me chan, especially if we're going to bed."

Makoto only grinned and kissed him again.

*

In following weeks, they explored just how much Makoto liked it when Haru wore his clothes, and how much more he liked Haru wearing marks from his mouth.

It was a good thing Haru had no shame because the red marks were bared to the world every time he stripped to swim -- which was, by virtue of his being Haru, as often as possible -- and they covered a wide range from neck to thigh.

Makoto still blushed every time Gou's eyes went wide or Nagisa made a dirty joke, but it was worth it to feel that heat, low and sweet, in his belly, to see his presence so visibly on Haru's skin.

It was even better when Haru caught his gaze and deliberately pressed his fingers into the bruises, lip caught between his teeth.

"Haru-chan! Mako-chan! Stop being gross," Nagisa shouted. He sent an affronted splash towards Makoto, who ducked and laughed, embarrassed.

Haru slipped back under the water, disappearing underneath the sunlight glinting off the surface. After a moment of watching the water ripple, Haru's body a vague blur in the pool, Mako shook himself off and dove in after him.

**Author's Note:**

> My writing process (aside from mandatory complaining about how hard writing is) consisted primarily of going, "Oh god, I have to edit out all the casual cursing and references to alcohol! Makoto is made of kittens, rainbows, and sparkly hearts! Damn you, Makoto!" 
> 
> This is the first thing I've written in a long while, so bear with me as I try to figure out just what the hell writing style is mine again, and bang out the dents till it's smooth again.
> 
> Thanks go to this gloriously gay swimming anime for finally getting me to write again and to [forochel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/forochel) for her shared enthusiasm.
> 
> The title is a quote from Kingsley Amis: “Sex is a momentary itch, love never lets you go.”


End file.
